


In His Good Graces

by Tandirra



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loki Has Issues, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, listen im really sorry about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12632265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tandirra/pseuds/Tandirra
Summary: Loki only weeks to get into the Grandmaster's good graces before Thor showed up. There's a few ways to do that.This is more Loki dealing with being on Sakaar than anything else, any sex is essentially set dressing.





	In His Good Graces

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what demon possessed me to write this thing, but here it is.

Loki awoke in the Grandmaster’s lavish bed, one of hundreds. His head pounding with the ravages of liquor and his very core tender even against the silken sheets, he groaned only to remember himself mid sound. He tensed only for the moment it took him to realize he was alone. Rolling to the edge, Loki eased himself into some emotion near calm and relished the rare isolation.

He'd been watched every second of every day on Sakaar. The dirty, loud planet that had a thousand eyes directing back to its deranged ruler. Loki was an outsider and all knew it, he especially. So, in order to survive, he’d adapted and fallen into line. A very particular line.

Cold shivered down his spine as he sat up and squinted out the window pouring in pale light. Despite the empty room, he felt far too vulnerable disrobed. Especially as countless ships flew by his view. Pulling the fabric close to his chest protectively, Loki glared at the window. For a brief second he made to summon his old clothes. But halfway through the spell he remembered the Grandmaster’s wishes. He turned, feeling vaguely ill, to scan the many overstuffed chairs that littered the room. Atop one of them lay a neatly folded outfit that Loki knew was for him. He scowled at the blue leather, though immediately reigned the distaste in, just in case he’d missed some hidden eye watching him.

Loki knew what he was on this planet, simply a puppet for the mad ruler of a stinking trash heap. But that was by Loki’s own design; he’d known soon as he laid eyes upon the ancient creature what he needed to do. The Grandmaster had been an easy read. He was nothing but a mad, hedonistic, eternally cheerful, lavish creature of fickle will and want. The kind that made Loki’s skin crawl. But he also happened to be near immortal with immeasurable power that flowed through every bone of his body; never before had Loki met such a creature. But he did know how to play off what parts of the Grandmaster he understood, even if it meant sacrificing his dignity.

Better a slave amongst luxury than a slave meant to die for the Grandmaster’s amusement in a bloody arena. Better the Grandmaster’s claim over him manifest in blue leather than in a veritable shock collar.

He slipped on the outfit, relishing, if just for a moment, the smoothness of the fine leather, and ignoring the soreness of his back. His gaze strayed to the shelves of strange liquor and lingered there, longing. It was not uncommon to spend the day lost in booze, none would ask questions. But drink loosened his tongue and when every word danced the edge of life and death, it was the last thing he needed. Nor was inebriation particularly good for keeping the Grandmaster contented until he too had succumb to his drinks. So Loki abandoned the vice.

Making the grave mistake of turning towards a mirror to smooth his hair, Loki flinched at the dark haired figure he saw in the reflection.

**_Kneel._ **

But he blinked and Hela’s words faded as he only saw his own weary green eyes staring back at him. The hollow sickness she brought, though, did not flee. _Parent-slayer three times over, that's what he was now._ The Allfather’s blood was on his hands and his alone. Whatever Hela did on Asgard, that death would be his fault as well. And Thor- Thor would face her alone and he would die. He had no chance of winning against her power. _Brother killer, too. Family killer._

In a different time, he thought, the accusations would have brought him to tears. Now, though, he could push nothing past the hollowness of his chest. When Frigga had been slain, he’d burned alive. He’d burned with her body; wanted nothing but revenge, cared not whether he lived or died for it, for his last hope, one he had not even realized he had, was gone and it was his own fault. But now, he felt empty of even grief. There was nothing in his chest left to burn. What heart he had left of him had died a cold and silent death with the Allfather.

_My sons._

Sons, plural; as if what Loki had done could be forgiven. As if Loki had not been instrumental in his death, accidental or not. As if it had not all been a thousand years of lies.

The Allfather was dead. The Allfather, who was stronger than life and whose power outshone both his sons by leagues, was dead. Had Loki not seen it with his own eyes, he would have refused to believe. The Allfather was dead at Loki’s hand. Loki had killed him. Killed the Allfather--

_My **sons.**_

His _father_. He’d left him to die. And still been offered forgiveness. He did not understand. He _could_ not understand. And his father was dead so he never would. He had _thousands_ of questions, built up since childhood, ones he’d utterly forgotten about until it was too late, all for his father. They would go unanswered evermore and he would _never understand._

Tears did not rise past Loki's dead heart, but panic did and it threatened to choke him there in that empty room. He clasp a hand across his mouth as if he could physically restrain the emotion. Tearing his gaze from the mirror, Loki bolted from the room. There was no time for panic, not yet; not when he had a master to please. He ran, dead heart pounding heavy in his chest. Ran from the mirror and the killer with deadly, undeniable truths stored within it.

When he met with folk sober enough to notice his sprint, Loki slowed and kept his pace even, carefully smoothing his face to a contented smile. He buried his distress and the thoughts that came with, to be dealt with another day. The stares of the people felt like knives against his back. The Grandmaster’s newest doll could not be seen harried or in any way distressed, that would belay a weakness, a _flaw_. Those he could not have, not when the Grandmaster loved his toys utterly pristine in every way. A broken doll was better discarded with the trash; Loki had seen it happen more than once in his short time on the planet.

That he had not yet been picked out as a marvelous fake at such a bluff was astonishing. Perhaps some had, Loki thought it more than likely the Grandmaster’s old second hand saw his true frayed edges. But the only one who truly mattered was the ruler himself. As long as Loki looked the part and continued to delight, he was safe. In order to survive he had to reinvent himself each and every night, find some new way to appease. It exhausted beyond measure. But death awaited around every corner and so he followed the mad whims of his master with an eager smile and a waiting ear.

It was not a difficult feat to find the Grandmaster; either look for the biggest party or the highest building, marked with the visages of his favorite champions.

By the way the Grandmaster’s face split into a smile when Loki arrived atop his tower, Loki guessed he'd come at just the right time. “Ah, there's my special guest! You know,” he glanced, still smiling, to his right hand woman. “We were just talking about you.”

Fear spiked through Loki's chest but he contained a flinch. “Oh, good things, I hope?” The complacent, unworried purr that escaped him was almost perfect. But still not good enough as his voice wavered a fraction. He smiled at the Grandmaster, infusing the gesture with a proper amount of respect. He chastised his failings. They would be the death of him.

When the ancient rose, laughing, Loki did not move, only waited for direction. The Grandmaster swept to him and then continued past, placing a hand on the small of his back to guide him. The touch thrummed so casually with power beyond reason that it made Loki shiver as his mind screamed at him to flee. “Of course, of course.” The Grandmaster waved a flippant hand as they took to the colorful corridors. Eyes followed them, followed Loki, some envious, more pitying. But Loki had ears only for the Grandmaster. “That party trick you did the other day; the one with the moose. Very funny. And that you never turned him back, _ha!_ Quite the story that will make when I get his head stuffed and hung on my wall.”

Loki soaked in the praise and felt a bit of warmth rise in his chest. Barbaric as the Grandmaster was, he slung compliments expertly and the talent, among others, was something to admire. That the Grandmaster even remembered the previous night was impressive in its own right, as Loki recounted how much drink the ancient being had consumed. “Well, the fellow was acting rather _bullheaded_. It seemed-” The Grandmaster chuckled at his pun, clearly delighted. It was all Loki could do not to sigh with relief. “-only fitting.”

His easy smugness obviously tickled, as the Grandmaster turned back to his right hand woman. “See!” Whatever they spoke of, clearly Loki had come out on top. He disliked being the target of some nefarious bet, it set him ill at ease. Reluctantly, the master’s right hand woman conceded. Directing his mad smile back to Loki, the Grandmaster idly traced a circle across the small of Loki's back. “Yes, yes. I'd like to see more things like that. Certainly.”

Silently cursing himself for setting a new precedent, Loki nevertheless chuckled. “I have many tricks up my sleeve, sir. You shall not be disappointed. In fact--”

“Ah, ah!” The Grandmaster stopped mid-stride and pressed a silencing finger against Loki's mouth, sandwiching Loki between him and the wall, with his other hand still at Loki’s back. “Shh, no spoilers now. I want surprises!”

When the ancient did not immediately remove his finger from Loki's mouth, Loki fought through the shock to realize he was no longer smiling. Gulping back worry, Loki amended the mistake and curved his lips under the Grandmaster’s hand. It took him too many moments more to relax into the Grandmaster’s weight, trying, without looking too desperate, to rid himself of the unwanted touch.

To his relief, quick as the action had come, it was retracted and the Grandmaster walked on, still smiling as if nothing were wrong. “Splendid!” Only a few steps into walking again, the finger that had circled the small of Loki’s back suddenly and without warning, drove against a sore muscle. Loki jumped at the flare of pain that shot up his body. “Ha! I thought so.” The Grandmaster grinned wide. Reluctantly, Loki returned the amusement with a chuckle. They angled towards the arena. “I'm thinking we get an early start today with the games. See what some of the collectors have brought in. Hmm?”

Eager to reassure his master, Loki nodded enthusiastically.

The games were bloody and vicious as always. Utterly dull. Sometimes sickening and far too familiar. On his third day one match had pitted a single contender against a veritable army. The unfortunate loser was strung up and pulled apart, screaming. Loki had practically felt his own spine creaking and snapping under the Mad Titan’s devices. It had left him shivering with a chill that did not exist, unable to stop himself even when he knew the Grandmaster had noticed. He'd drowned the memory in drink that night and let himself scrape some enjoyment from his machinations with the Grandmaster, simply to bury the sensations left over by the Mad Titan.

The games were of poor taste. And Sakaar was miserable. But it was nothing like his last fall through the Void. Nothing like the Mad Titan. He supposed he should be thankful for that.

This day’s finale left its contenders impaled through bloody spears and swords. Loki clapped politely, pretended to enjoy it, even as he was all too aware of the Grandmaster’s hand on his thigh. His mind strayed to his escape.

He could no more force himself to bear being the Grandmaster’s toy for the rest of his life than he could expect to be relevant that long to the ancient being. He either escaped or he died when another came along. And there was always another. Loki had watched the doll he replaced burn to a puddle of muck on the floor. Her screams had haunted him as the Grandmaster’s hands had pressed him into a wall and laid claim to his very self.

But Loki’s plan of escape was fleeting and weak, even by his standards. If he could simply gain enough good graces he might be trusted enough to be left alone outside of bed-quarters. And he might be alone long enough to steal one of the many ships sequestered away in Sakaar’s filthy buildings. Assuming he made it out of the firefight that would come, any of the wormholes would offer refuge. Where, he did not know. But he didn't much care, as long as it was far, far from Sakaar.

And Asgard.

The thought of the realm prodded at his hollow heart. Now, surely, it was Hela’s. Nothing could hold her off for long. The sudden image of her crushing Thor’s skull in her hand leapt to Loki’s mind and he lurched up, feeling ill. The kabobs he’d indulged in roiled in his stomach. He clawed at his chest, starved for air. _Brother killer. Family slayer. Realm betrayer._

“Ah… Loki?” The Grandmaster laid a hand on his neck and Loki jumped back to reality. The sound of bone crunching and gore squelching faded from his ears as he stared at the ancient madman. “I know it's exciting but I didn't realize you so liked this kind of thing. You should have told me! My, you’ll adore my champion then, once you see him in action.”

Loki blinked, feverently wishing the Grandmaster wasn't touching him. For a few seconds, Loki existed only in confusion. Then he snapped his head to the arena and saw the lone remaining champion parading his victory. The crowd cheered so loud the sound ached in Loki’s bones. He turned a smile he hoped looked sincere to the Grandmaster. “Unquestionably, I shall. As for the secrets… I do enjoy my enigmas. Especially since I know you love to decode them.”

It was the right thing to say; the Grandmaster laughed. “Cheeky! You’re a fun game!” His hand gripped Loki’s shoulder now as he pulled them both from the balcony. “I've got some festivities waiting.” The wink he gave was wholly unnecessary, though Loki humored him, pushing away the dread image that clung stubbornly to his consciousness.

Like the gladiator fights, every one of the parties followed an easy to track mold. Loki trailed the Grandmaster around when he wished for it, doting upon him as needed. When the Grandmaster sent him away it was usually only for minutes at a time. During that time, Loki fraternized and pretended to enjoy himself, in case his master was watching. There were drinks, yes, and Loki partook in them. But at a certain point he cut himself off, though none knew. He needed even a sliver of sobriety to survive the night. So when toasts came, Loki would press the full glass to his lips and vanish the liquor with a spell. He was subtle only for formality, as all those around him were too smashed to notice anything off about it. Each time the Grandmaster called his presence, it was to request a show.

And so Loki performed. He threw dazzling smiles along with his spells, though saved the most spectacular for the Grandmaster himself. If jealousy was an emotion the ancient creature could feel, Loki did not want to rouse it in him.

“Oh, oh Lo- Loco,” the Grandmaster laughed. Another predictable outcome that Loki had learned to ignore. Despite being the Grandmaster’s current favorite doll, Loki knew his name was irrelevant. He would be called many a things close to his name when his master was drunk, rarely his actual name. The vain anger he felt at the injustice boiled in his stomach even as he willingly wrapped himself around the Grandmaster’s finger. “That was good, very pretty!” The Grandmaster enthusiastically led a round of claps.

As the victim of Loki's display was carted away, frozen solid in brilliantly blue ice, Loki settled back into the crook of the Grandmaster’s arm like the doll he knew he was. He ignored the uncomfortable prickling sensations that travelled up his arm as the Grandmaster’s fingers played a rhythm against his wrist. “I live to please,” he murmured, making the statement breathy and only for the Grandmaster’s ears.

“Sure looks like it!” None of the intimacy was mutual, as the Grandmaster practically shouted. The liquor was heavy on the Grandmaster’s breath. Loki narrowly avoided wrinkling his nose at the scent as his master leaned in close.

If it was flirting, Loki had a hard time deciphering it as such. The madness of the Grandmaster was total, he had not a subtle bone in his body. Though he needed no such thing; Loki was his property if not by word then by proximity. Property did not warrant the coy, teasing game that usually preceded such partnerships. When the Grandmaster pushed back Loki's hair, he did so indelicately, tugging at Loki’s roots. As he nibbled on Loki’s neck, leaving furious red bruises, he paused alternately to laugh at some joke or misfortune to befall one of his other guests, as if Loki were not there. Loki knew this and expected it. But the attention was essential to survival, so when the Grandmaster strayed, Loki brought him back, humming low so that the sound carried only to his master or tracing the veins of the Grandmaster’s hands with his finger. If he got desperate, he'd do so with his lips and tongue.

Loki might be the doll of a great spoiled brat, but he was not a doll content to be ignored. Not yet. Not until his freedom was secure.

As the party died down, their routine continued its path to privacy, wherever the Grandmaster decided that was, or however far he could walk to find it. Each night was a guessing game that Loki played all to ensure appeasement. Each move was carefully calculated against terrible odds. When he was drunker, he would abandon pretense and simply hope for the best, perhaps even enjoy himself against his better judgement. But with a modicum of sobriety came the nerve wracking business of deciding what best suited and served.

Blindingly neon lights in vibrant purples and yellow strobes streaked across the massive room. Somewhere distant, a beat thrummed. Its bass rattled the walls and throbbed through Loki’s body as the Grandmaster pulled him deeper into the room, shoving him back onto a pale, velveteen couch. The Grandmaster pressed himself upon Loki and hooking a finger under Loki’s chin to pull his face skyward. “Mmmh… Very good. _Very_ good.” His admiration made Loki’s stomach clench. It sounded far too like a butcher observing his next cut.

Seconds later, the Grandmaster grabbed his face and lurched him up so that their lips crashed together. Loki urged himself to accept the action, curling his mouth to a smile best he could. He tasted the alcohol on the Grandmaster’s tongue as it snaked into his mouth; it made him nauseous. But he imagined, as heavy hands capable of tearing him apart by the very atoms of his being, tugged at his hair, that he could almost taste his freedom too. All that mattered now was that he pleased the Grandmaster. After that, he would move to freedom and a plan. After that, he did not know.

_What place would take in a family slayer other than Sakaar and the Void? He had nowhere to escape to._

Loki went numb and cold for a brief moment before he buried the worry under the stir of hot breath on his neck and grasping hands prying impatiently at his collar. One goal at a time. One day at a time.

He sensed the Grandmaster speaking into his ear and though the words were lost to him utterly, Loki knew what he wanted. Ignoring his instincts that warned him against weakness, Loki flicked his wrist and freed himself of his clothes. He was rewarded with a satisfied laugh. All else went numb as the Grandmaster’s nails raked down his bare hipbone, _wanting_ , and sent a quivering, hot thrill up his spine in a heady rush. His dead heart skipped a beat as the Grandmaster hitched him closer so that skin pressed against skin. The sensation lurched deep in Loki's guts. Flushed, Loki forced himself to relax, loosing his hands from the death grip they had on the Grandmaster’s robes.

The Grandmaster met his gaze for a split second. Had he not already gasped for air, the hedonistic, hungry madness Loki saw there would have left him breathless. Instead, laughter almost bubbled from his throat in a fit of absurdity over his situation. He quelled his laughter and ran his hands along the Grandmaster’s neck, imagining briefly how he could simply crush the life from the ancient being and flee far away. But Loki shooed the fantasy, pulling a coy grin sure to match the hunger of his master. He shuddered a sigh as the Grandmaster slid a warm hand up his thigh.

One moment at a time, Loki would earn his freedom.


End file.
